


A Welcome Distraction

by perlaret



Category: Selfie (TV)
Genre: Business Trip, F/M, Hotel Sex, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days, two people, one hotel room. Getting up close and personal is nothing to fear... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Logistical Error

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to claidilady (fromstars@ao3) for helping me not only plot out this fic, but work out the kinks and edit it at well.

"There is no possible way that you need all of that."

The taxi driver stifles a groan as he lifts the last of the suitcases out of the cab. He barely spares them a “Have a good day,” before diving out of the San Diego heat and back into his double-parked vehicle, leaving them surrounded by luggage and further away from the hotel entrance than might be desired. A black Mercedes honks, impatient for them to get out of the way.

"We are here for three whole days, Higgster. There's literally no way for me to predict what I do or don't need."

"It's a conference," Henry sighs, ushering her towards the sidewalk. "We will be going to panels and networking events and the like. The itinerary is about as straightforward as you can possibly get."

Eliza tosses her hair over her shoulder to signify her dismissal and adjusts the strap of the oversized bag (balanced precariously on her hip beneath her equally oversized purse), takes hold of her polka dot patterned luggage and strides toward the hotel. Henry follows close after, significantly less weighed down with only his briefcase and single carry-on – and offering apologies to the couple with the brat she'd cut off without noticing.

"Please," she continues. "Maybe you've already forgotten the last debacle we had with you on a schedule, but I haven't. And conferences are hardly straightforward. Only the drones with no people skills who waste away their lives in boring panels think that."

Henry huffs in time with the hotel's automatic doors sliding open before them. They're hit with a veritable wall of air-conditioned coolness, which thank god, is exactly what Eliza needs, because if she gets pit stains on this new chiffon blouse she might have to find a weatherman to murder. 

"That was an entirely different situation, and I did learn my lesson, if you'll kindly recall,” Henry says. “But this is one of the most prestigious pediatric pharmaceutical conferences on the west coast. I guarantee you that the people here are serious about actually attending the programs offered."

"And I guarantee you, Henry Higgs, that every single keynote speaker you've planned to ingratiate yourself to this weekend will want to flee the drafty ballrooms ASAFP–" the addition of that extra letter garners her an exasperated side eye "–as soon as their talk is over so they can lounge at the pool with their friends, sipping overpriced appletinis and gossiping about who's going to repeat last year's bad hookup choices. That's just common sense. "

"Well I suppose if one must justify one's own choices by undermining the professionalism of all of their peers..." Henry mutters archly, and Eliza rolls her eyes. So she'd clearly hit a nerve, but it's not like it's her fault that Henry can't handle a total truth bomb when it drops. People don't get a free weekend at the Hilton, courtesy of their otherwise stingy employers, just to waste it listening to droning old farts who could barely tell a PowerPoint from a pina colada. Sure, you showed your face from time to time when you had to, but if you really wanted to rub elbows with the movers and shakers, you hauled ass to their bar of choice and made sure you were the one passing them the salt shaker when it was tequila shot time. Like, obvs.

But apparently Henry had missed that memo. It'd almost be adorable, if only the thought of all the poor bored convention-goers on their way to boozier pastures he must've waylaid over the years wasn't so deeply cringeworthy.

"On the upside," Eliza chirps, deciding they most definitely needed a segue away from the minefield that was Henry's workaholism, "-there's no undermining these digs. The rooms are gonna be killer." 

If they ever got to them, that is. The lobby mills with people despite the late hour, an almost even mix between businessy types and people who look like they'd spent the whole day at the beach, the lucky jerks. They come to a halt near the check-in counter, the line in front of them mostly composed of people looking disgruntled in cheap suits. Probably because of the cheap suits, Eliza surmises. It's only like 100 degrees outside. They’d be far better off if they took fashion advice from Henry, of all people, who’d had the sense to dress for the weather in a tailored linen suit, all cool sandy tones over blue gingham. It was like office hipster meets GQ fashion issue. Sure, he could be stuffy sometimes, but he did know how to dress to impress. 

"Yes, I do recall the amenities here being quite agreeable," Henry says, taking the change in topic with grace. "I attended last year when they held it here as well."

"Mmhm," Eliza murmurs skeptically, juggling her bags so she could pull out her phone and check just what those amenities were. And, #blessed, she's delighted to find the wifi at this place is both easy to access and fast. The Hilton website loads quickly. "So hold up, let's clarify here: are we talking about the fact this place has a public notary on staff or the fact they have a spa, because one of those is an agreeable amenity and the other is just lame."

"I was referring to the excellent exercise facilities, actually," he replies, giving her that sideways glance that meant he was amused, which was always good. Quite the step up from back when Henry used to look pained whenever she said anything, back when they'd first met. Things haven't been like that for a long time, though. "Though truth be told I could foresee far more use for the latter than the former."

"Spoken like someone who has never gotten a massage," Eliza counters as the group in front of them moved on toward the newly available hostess, because OMG what a stick in the mud thing to say. "One of these days, Henry..."

"One of these days, what?"

"Next please!" comes the summons and his question falls to the wayside in favor of moving up to the counter. Henry sets down his carryon and greets the lady behind the counter, resting his elbow on the high ledge in that casually confident way men get, which admittedly kind of makes Eliza lose her train of thought a little. It's much more interesting to examine the lines of his shoulders beneath his suit jacket, the way the fabric pulls along the bend of his spine. He does things like that sometimes, little unintentional distracting things that she totally knows are unintentional precisely because it is Henry doing them, and as already established, Henry has zero game. 

Except, apparently, for when he totally does. Or when he chooses to waste those brief and fleeting moments on lesser beings. Not that she's being judgey or anything. It's just a friend's job to notice these things. 

"There should be two rooms," Henry says, oblivious to Eliza's mental assessment of his sometimes dubious charms. "One under Higgs, the other under Dooley, two o's."

"One moment please," the hostess says, clicking around on her computer and doing whatever it was that hotel people did. She has to know what she was doing, Eliza figures, because she's done an excellent job of pairing her nail polish with her lipstick, so she obviously can't be incompetent. "Hmm. Do you happen to have the credit card with which you made the reservation?"

Eliza looks at Henry. Henry looks at the hotel lady with that smile that isn't actually a smile, the one that he makes when he starts sensing things aren't going entirely according to plan. Trepidation. That's the word for it.

"Of course, if you'll allow me to find it..." He opens his wallet, shifting through the painstakingly organized compartments until he finds the card. He passes it over, still grimace-smiling like his goal in life is to wrinkle like a raisin by age fifty. "And the reservation numbers as well."

Eliza nudges his elbow with hers. "God Henry, stop making that face and relax. She'll find it so there's no need to look like you're travel constipated." She has faith in this woman – Sasha, if her shiny name tag is to be trusted – and her perfect taste in beach-appropriate coral shades, okay.

"I'm not–" Henry starts to protest before realizing that maybe he's starting off on way too defensive a note to make a convincing argument. He tries again. "That's an unkind evaluation of my expression. I'm merely tired and looking forward to relaxing for the rest of the evening."

"Uh huh." Eliza makes a show of going back to scrolling through her celeb list on Twitter... and holy shit, double-take, what the hell has Kim Kardash done to her hair?

Henry makes some effort to rearrange his features into a less horrifyingly contrived attempt at pleasantness, and Eliza doesn't have the heart to tell him the results are equally disastrous. Fortunately he seems to register on his own the fact she is neither impressed nor interested in his attempts and gives in with a sigh of resignation. The truth hurts, yo.

"Alright," Sasha interjects, drawing back their attention. "I do see we have a reservation here made by this card, for Kinderkare Pharmaceuticals, but it's for only one room."

"That can't be right," Henry says, and welp, there's that look again, back like a boomerang. "Look, here are the printouts of our reservation records, and it shows here very clearly that we purchased two rooms."

Sasha takes the papers with a critical eye and Eliza finally begins to suspect that her faith in the woman has been misplaced. There is more typing and Eliza feels compelled to lock her phone and join in on Henry's stare-down.

"...It seems there's been some kind of mistake."

"Mistake?" Okay, she definitely hadn't intended for them to say that in tandem, and it's maybe a little bit harder not to jinx him than it ought to be. Gotta maintain the unified front and all that. But at least their point is totally clear.

"I do apologize, but it seems like there was some kind of error in our systems. I do see that you were charged the amounts reflected on your reservation, but it looks as though it did not save your rooms properly, hence the confusion."

Henry waves impatiently. "That's fine. If you could just fix it, please."

Eliza doesn't like the apprehensive look they were getting they were getting. It gives the impression that Sasha is about to let her down in a major sort of way.

"That's the trouble, sir. Between the summer tourism and the fact there are several major events happening in the area, this is one of the busiest weekends of the summer."

"Um, so wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Eliza interrupts, leaning forward over the counter with narrowed eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry, ma'am. There are currently no other rooms available." 

Oh god. Eliza doesn't know whether to be offended by the fact she'd just been "ma'am'd” or annoyed because the only solution to this problem is definitely going to cut into her ability to kick it this weekend. 

Henry's incredulous "Excuse me?" makes her think she's not the only one to come to the conclusion she's had. She bites the inside of her cheek.

"I'd be more than happy to process a refund for the difference and put you on the waiting list should any additional rooms become available, but unfortunately that is all that I can do at the moment."

"And a free spa package, if you could," Eliza throws in with a pointed smile, because if she and Henry are going to be spending several nights in the same hotel room, well! "You know. For the inconvenience. I am definitely going to need one of those." 

She glances over. Henry is currently dragging a hand down his face, clearly overwrought and surprisingly speechless. But she's already known for a while that he doesn't work well with unexpected change, and maybe his annoyance isn't necessarily to do with her, or more specifically, recent events between them. At least the situation was special-treatment milkable, right? Yay, freebies!

"Actually. Make that two spas. Please."

Sasha looks between them. Eliza raises her eyebrows pointedly. She is definitely not above activating supreme bitchface for a massage, okay.

"Let me speak with my manager and I'll see what we can do."

Sasha slips off to go track down whoever she needs to track down and Eliza turns to Henry and tries to muster some enthusiasm.

"Sooo, I guess this weekend will be a bit cozier than expected, eh?"

Henry rests both elbows on the counter, presses his face into his upraised palms and groans.

-

Apprehension does not even begin to describe what Henry is feeling right now.

Apprehension is the barest tip of the iceberg. 

"Thank you," Henry tells the bellhop as the kid steers the luggage cart back out of the room and passes him a tip before finally closing the door. The latch catches with a click that feels far more ominous a sound than it ought to. Additionally, his palms are strangely clammy, which is also completely and utterly unwarranted. He is a grown adult – one who just so happens to have become the victim of an unfortunate logistical error, and he will proceed with dignity, thank you.

Except, Henry thinks with a sigh, his dignity seems doomed to become increasingly absent wherever Eliza Dooley was concerned.

He turns from the door, discreetly wiping his palms down the front of his thighs, to find exactly what the woman in question is up to.

"Henry, get over here, you need to come look at this view!"

Eliza stands over by one of the windows, of which there are several, because the mix-up has also entailed them getting a room with a view instead of the two standard rooms Kinderkare Pharmaceuticals had actually booked on their behalves. And what a view indeed. Henry comes to stand beside her, taking in the long line of lights framing the coastline. It's too dark to see the ocean at this time of night, so it's just an endless expanse of darkness edged by a trail of city lights from where the city ended before the shoreline. Come morning, it would be even more breathtaking.

"It's very nice." He glances at her to try and gauge her mood, but Eliza is already flitting off to the desk in the corner of the room.

"And the room service menu is great – like, not as great as it was at Saperstein's place that one time, but look, we can get room service frozen yogurt with all the toppings you could dream of! And, OMG," she gasps as she opens the door to the en-suite bathroom. "The tub is an actual real one, I think it's even got jets. Dibs!"

"Take your time," Henry tells her, retreating to where the bellhop had set his bags down by the bed. Singular. 

"In a bit," Eliza tells him, by all appearances entirely unmoved by their situation. If she feels even the slightest twinge of the awkwardness he does, she certainly isn't planning on letting on. "First things first, this room has a minibar."

"Eliza," Henry says, placating. "The hotel charges for those."

"And if work doesn't pay for them, I will, it's fine. Oh, chocolate liqueur!"

"Don't drink too much. The welcome session starts early tomorrow."

Eliza gives him a droll look over her shoulder, cracking open the tiny bottle as she straightens and nudging the minifridge closed with her toe. "Okay, Mr. Crabbypants. First of all, I'm not going to get drunk. Second of all, welcome sessions are supes boring and we don't actually need to both attend. Finally, what's the deal?"

"The opening session is important," Henry retorts, deeply uninterested in addressing her final question. "It sets the tone for the entire event!"

She takes a casual swing of the liqueur and leans against the sleek wooden bureau, more modern in style than beachy. "Okay. Fine. I'll go... but only if you stop looking like someone threatened to kill your cat and use your people words, Henry."

Henry gives her a sharp look – of all the metaphors to use now! Eliza merely lifts her free hand and examines her manicure, the very picture of blasé. It dawns on him finally that she's already figured him out; she's just waiting for him to come out with it. Henry sighs and lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress.

"The bedding situation doesn't concern you, then?" he asks, because at the very least, he might as well have company for the early morning events.

"I mean, having my own room would've been preferable, but it's not like I'm worried you're going to grab me or something." For the first time, a glimmer of self-consciousness peeks through in the way Eliza tucks her hair behind her ear, then tugs briefly on one shoulder-length curl. "If I was going to be stuck with anyone from work in this sitch, at least it's you."

She doesn't mention Freddy. Henry notices it like a neon sign glowing in the middle of a barren desert, and his heart trips a beat. No fear, he remembers.

Henry doesn't mention him either.

"Right, well. We'll make it work."

Eliza smiles. "Yeah. Like I said, it'll be cozy. And I can totally instagram your bedhead."

"Absolutely not," Henry tells her, the stiltedness finally falling away. "Now move, you fiend. I want to unpack."


	2. Shallow

Eliza does take her time in the bath, spa jets and all, and it's absolutely heavenly and just what she needs to unwind after a day of traveling and Henry's fidgeting.

She sighs as she towel dries her hair, letting the situation wash over her. It's not that she's concerned. As she'd said to Henry, it's not like she doesn't trust him or thinks anything bad will happen. But she'd known from the first moment Saperstein had informed them that Alice Bedsworth, director of sales, would not be able to attend – and that he would like Eliza to attend in her place – that this would be a weekend for the record books. 

It isn't that she doesn't like being around Henry. Quite the opposite in fact. The problem is more that she still totally thinks that jumping his bones is a fantastic, mind-blowing idea – one that needs to be followed through on immediately. Which was going to be totally easy to manage, up until the room reservation fiasco.

"Ugh," she mutters, running her fingers through her damp hair. She'd recently had the ends neatened up after her initial DIY job, and it'd been worth it. A little less Ariel, but still a good look. Eliza likes it.

And judging by the way she's caught him looking at her sometimes, Henry likes it too.

Eliza frowns at herself in the mirror for that thought and pulls at the oversized t-shirt she's brought with her for PJs. For all her plans to play it cool, alone, the self-consciousness comes rushing back. The last thing she's good at is sharing personal space with a man she's totes hot for, okay. At least, not in the mature and ultimately platonic way Henry probably expects her to.

"Get a grip, Eliza Dooley," she tells her reflection. "You can totally spend three days with a guy without banging him. This is not hard."

Even if it is a guy she's in love with. If this is what it meant to be 'mature', then so help her. She would find a way.

She starts when there's a rap at the door. "Any chance you're almost done in there?" Henry calls from the other room. "I was hoping to brush my teeth."

"One sec!" she tells him, and then lowers her voice to hiss into the mirror: "You can do this!" 

She adjusts her shirt one last time, making sure it's draped to the most attractive angle possible, and reminds herself that she chose the one emblazoned 'HOTTIE WITH A BODY' in bold, block letters for a reason. Confidence re-mustered, Eliza gives herself a wink and turns to reopen the door. 

"All yours," she says. 

Henry gives her a grateful look as he edges past her, toiletry bag in hand. He's changed into his pajamas as well, pinstriped blue pants that look like they'd once been part of a matched set and a short-sleeved navy tee, the kind he wore sometimes that made his arms look super... nice. "Thanks. I was beginning to fear that you had drowned yourself in there."

Eliza rolls her eyes and heads over to her bags to stuff her dirty laundry into a side compartment. She can hear faucet turns on in bathroom. "You did tell me to take my time," she calls over her shoulder. Honestly, it was so easy to tell when a man didn't have sisters. 

"I have learned from my mistakes," Henry retorts, his voice muffled, like his mouth is full of toothpaste. It strikes her that this is weirdly domestic, never mind they're in a hotel room, and that's kind of... neat. She likes the feel of it.

Except, Eliza is one hundred percent certain that having it this bad after a guy's already rejected you is not something to brag about on Twitter. That part is less neat.

She sighs at herself because, honestly, where did all of that confidence go? She'll have to plan a good outfit for tomorrow in order to get her groove back – ooh, maybe the pink pencil skirt with the zipper up the side. The worst possible thing to do now would be letting this one little logistical problem throw off her entire conference weekend chill. She hadn't planned on any hot and sexy pharma-flings to round out her weekend, especially given her current company. Henry’s fussing isn’t hard to imagine at all. Even if he did know that she and Freddy were currently, well...

An optimistic person might call it "being on the rocks." A more pessimistic person would probably note that "going on a break" had been suggested. Eliza is choosing to call it what it is: finally over.

She flops onto the bed with her smallest bag and rifles through it, searching for her sleep mask. The thing with Freddy had been an exercise in frustration for them both. Turns out, it's pretty hard to meet someone's expectations in a serious relationship when you're jonesing hard for someone else's dark eyes and toned arms and...

Right. Not going there, not while the man in question was just in the other room. Talk about a recipe for frustration.

"God, where is it?" Eliza huffs, mood starting to sour, and upends the entire bag onto the bed beside her.

"What are you looking for?" Henry asks as he steps from the bathroom, smelling of spearmint and face still a bit damp. Eliza shakes out a blouse and then chucks it to the floor; he steps around it neatly.

"My sleepy-thingy eye mask," she tells him. "I never sleep without it, because the night is too short and light is evil."

Henry frowns as she dumps another few articles of clothing on the ground in her search, probably grossed out but whatever, she didn't have time to worry about floor germs. "Eliza, I'm fairly certain that the curtains here are lined, so that should be sufficient to block out the sunlight if you're bound and determined to sleep until the afternoon. Which, by the way, I do hope you aren't planning on."

Eliza turns to look at him and gives him her most murderous look. It's effective too, because he totally gets this kinda alarmed expression and takes a half-step back. Serves him right.

"Henry, that is not sufficient. That will be the complete opposite of sufficient! Trying to sleep without it is like going to the beach and having the halter strings on your teeny-weenie yellow-polka-dot bikini come loose when you're totally not ready to start sunbathing yet, okay? This kind of exposure is completely unbearable, and also? That thing is Juicy Couture and was a birthday present from my actually nice grandma when I turned eighteen, so I can't lose it, and so Henry, what I’m really saying here is: your curtains are as insufficient as they are ugly!"

"Eliza," Henry says, bending to pick up her things and move them into her newly-righted bag. "You probably just forgot to pack it. It'll be okay, really. We can call down to room service, see if they have any sleep masks laying around for their guests, and you'll probably find your strangely-branded one hidden under your bed when you get home."

Eliza groans and flops miserably backwards onto the mattress. "This is already shaping up to be a terrible sleepover, Henry."

Henry shakes his head. "I think you're being unnecessarily particular. Do you want me to call down to room service or not?"

Eliza throws her arm over her eyes and decides she is officially Done, capital D and all, with tonight. "Yeah. More pillows too. For your own good. I kick and get super cold feet."

"Oh," Henry says as he dials the phone and sets it to his ear. "I suppose we can sleep under different layers of blankets as well, to avoid that problem. However, I imagine creating some sort of blockade could be wise, for comfort's sake."

"Uh huh," Eliza says, and chews her cheek. Might as well admit the important bit. "I can get clingy, so."

"Clingy? –Oh, yes, hello. This is Henry Higgs, from room 412. We were hoping to get at least two or three additional pillows... And do you have any sleep masks. Yes?" He flashes her a thumbs up. "Yes, one please–"

"–Oh, and an extra towel! For my hair. Do they have bathrobes?"

"...And another towel and a bathrobe, if you have any." Henry covers the receivers of the phone and asks her, more than a little dryly, "Anything else?"

Eliza thinks something up just because, geez, sassy! So she likes her creature comforts. A girl deserves them.

"Do they have any of those chocolate minty thingies? Because, like, I could do with at least five right now."

"That will be all," Henry says and then hangs up, and Eliza gasps a gasp of utter betrayal. 

"Rude!" she cries, and chucks the nearest thing she can grab at him, which just so happens to be her lucky lacey pink bra – like, she once met Channing Tatum while wearing that bra. It was super lucky. Henry splutters as it hits him in the face and then catches on his shirt by a hook; he quickly pulls it from his collar and tosses it back at her.

"Good grief, Eliza! Why are you throwing your– your intimates at me?"

"Oh, grow up, Henry. It's a bra, and it’s not my fault you'll never get to touch my lingerie again," she grumps, picking up the bra and shoving it back into her bag, and then sweeping the rest of her things back into it as well, with reasonable success. Whatever, she reasons, floor germs aren’t that big of a deal. "And it's totes your fault if my breath isn't minty-fresh in the morning. Hashtag, I woke up like this."

"First of all, that's what toothpaste is for," Henry says, sounding deeply aggrieved. "Secondly, there's a jar of mints over on the desk."

Eliza can't help the squeal of delight because, oh my god, she'd totally overlooked those. She rolls to her feet and goes to investigate. "Awesome, there's a bunch. Want one?"

"Sure," Henry agrees, and manages to catch the one she tosses his way despite her somewhat wonky aim before claiming the far side of the bed, closest to the door. He’s only barely sat down when there’s a knock on the door. The hotel may be packed but apparently their room service is on top of shit. “I’ll get it,” Henry says, and rises to go answer the door.

Eliza pops the candy free of its wrapper and into her mouth, enjoying the chocolatey goodness as she strolls across the room to come investigate the goods. She plucks the eye mask from the top of the pile in Henry’s arms as he kicks the door shut behind him and gives it a good once over.

“God, I love this hotel. Everything is so fuzzy!” She makes a show of rubbing the mask over her cheek, because first off, she wants to feel for herself just how soft it is, and well, he’d been nice enough to call down for it for her. Henry’s always saying how important it was to show gratitude when it’s deserved, so like, why not. “Like, this may not be the cashmere I’m used to, but fleecy will totally do.”

“I’m glad,” Henry says, giving her an amused look, and drops the extra towels on the bureau, and then the pillows on the bed. His shirt does that thing again as he bends, the stretching-across-the-shoulders and emphasizing the shape of his torso thing. This time the effect is better because, sans suit jacket, she can make out the curve of his spine and the vaguest hints of musculature. Eliza bites her lip.

So, like. It’s been a few days. Over a week. Closer to two. She’s a woman with needs, goddamn, and geez, this zero privacy thing could not come at a worse time.

“Weird question for you,” she says, trying to shake it off and dropping back onto the bed on the other side of the new mound of pillows. She takes one and starts arranging them into a fluffy wall down the middle of the bed. 

“I’m listening.”

“Do you do pilates or something? Like, I know you run, but there’s gotta be something extra going on to get all that…” she gestures, looking for the right word that won’t offend Henry’s delicate sensibilities. “That shape.”

Henry gives her that look he gets when she’s says something he thinks is silly, eyebrow slightly raised and the corner of his mouth doing this cute quirky thing she’s definitely a little bit into. “I have a gym,” he explains, uselessly.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s totally working,” Eliza says, plopping back onto her pillow and fishing for the remote. “Don’t bug out or anything, but even the boss admires from time to time.”

“Please tell me you don’t spend time speculating as to my gym routine with Sam Saperstein, Eliza – on second thought, never mind, I don’t want to know.” Henry shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge a particularly disagreeable thought and escapes into what’s probably the soothing familiarity of digging through his briefcase. Like a baby with pacifier. “That aside, we should decide which panels we will be attending tomorrow. I know I mentioned on the way a couple of the ones I’d been eying, but…”

By ‘mentioned’, Henry means ‘talked about it so much that he didn’t even notice she had earbuds in the whole time’. Way too much blah blah blah. If only she could convince him to put some of that work ethic into something a little more fun.

“I already circled some of them on the schedule thingy,” she sighs. “Bonus, they fit nicely around spa appointment. Which is going to be so worth it, trust.”

Henry whirls on her, schedule clutched in his hand. “Spa appointment?! Eliza, we’re here for work!”

She rolls her eyes and, remote found, turns on the TV. “Yeah, and it’s going to be way more difficult to squeeze in my kegel routine, so a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Besides, they’re complimentary! Negotiated that shit, remember?” Ugh, HGTV, nope. She changes the channel. Eliza is pretty sure that if she ever needs help learning how to put colors together, she can just waste time on Bryn’s DIY Pinterest boards looking for a tutorial. “Besides, Henry. Some of those panels are total wastes of our time.”

He looks skeptical. Sounds it too. “Name one.”

“I can do better than that.” She puts the TV on mute, rolls on her side and holds up a hand, ticking off her thoughts. “I think it’s pretty obvs that, given that KinderKare sells absolutely zero products for cancer patients, the results for the latest chemo trials aren’t anywhere up our alley, so like, strike one. Also, that one at three o’clock is actually being hosted by this homeopathic hack I went to college with and he was a loser with bad hair, bad breath, and tried to cheat off of me in Chemistry like three times even after I turned him down for Homecoming.” She taps a third finger at him. “Oh, and that one company that’s here from China? Is all over the news right now because it’s being investigated by the FDA, and honestly Henry, we have nothing to gain from lead-based vitamins.”

“Lead, Eliza? Really?” 

“Whatever, it’s something with way more syllables but not my problem. You can google it if you don’t believe me.”

Henry abandons his briefcase and the schedule, looking a little wilted as he leans against the desk. “No. I’ve seen the news. You’ve got a point. Perhaps the talk on the proposed solutions to antibiotic resistance, or the one on how new challenges in cost competition will impact drug marketing, would pass your muster?”

Battle won, Eliza unmutes the TV. “Sure. Though I don’t see how the former has anything to do with either of our jobs.”

“It’s called being knowledgeable about your industry. Surely that is something that would be to both of our benefits! Personal edification is a goal within itself, Eliza.”

“Okay, but it’s after business hours, Henry, so right now personal relaxation is my primary goal,” she says, pointedly turning up the volume a few notches even though Criminal Intent lost its verve years ago. If only there were a good movie on, or at least reruns of Say Yes to the Dress… She sits up straight. “Wait, Henry, we could order something good on pay-per-view! I mean, what do you watch, besides lame-o documentaries? Can I order a romcom?”

Henry shrugs and delves back into his briefcase for a moment, then holds up a book as he returns to his side of the pillow wall. “I was planning on catching up on some reading, actually. You can choose whatever you want.” 

The bed dips as he sits and climbs beneath the blankets. Whatever. If he wants to sulk, Eliza has no problem with that. She fully intends to subvert all of her emotional and physical frustrations into a cheesy hour and a half film, catch up on Instagram, and have a good night’s sleep. Henry can mourn his boring convention dreams on his own time, thanks.

This plan lasts her a solid thirty minutes. Or so.

“Can you believe this guy?” she asks Henry, frowning at the television. “How could he yell at her like that? That’s not romantic at all!”

“She did pry into his personal affairs,” Henry says, turning a page. 

Eliza huffs and levers herself up on one arm, pushing aside a pillow to glare at him. “Because she was worried about his well-being, and thought he was hiding something from her! Like, tell me you wouldn’t do the same.” Henry frowns at her from behind the back cover.

“I would endeavor to respect someone’s privacy, should they request it,” he says.

“Oh please,” Eliza groans, pushing gently at his shoulder. “Really, you’re telling me that if you thought I, for example, was in a shady, life-risky situation with mobsters with unfortunate moustaches, you wouldn’t poke your nose into things to figure out what was going on?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Henry says blandly. “You hate moustaches. You listed them on your list of Top Ten Turnoffs of 2014, a list which you’ve dictated to me no less than three times in unfortunate detail. Therefore, I have few concerns that you will be somehow seduced by a moustachioed mobster and subsequently drawn into his criminal mechanisms.”

“What if he’d shaved it?” Eliza presses. “What if I were drunk?”

“I, unfortunately, have great faith in your commitment to accurately reporting details about your sexual preferences that I’d otherwise learning, Eliza.”

“Sure,” Eliza sniffs, choosing to disguise her disappointment with haughtiness. “Says the guy who totally rode out to find me on a majestic horse that one time. I super believe you.”

“I needed to talk to you! And you were far away.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s called walking,” she tells him, rolling her eyes in the most exaggerated way she can manage. “Like, I got out there in heels. In grass! Do you know what a pain that is?”

“The horse was convenient,” he insists, shifting uncomfortably under her stare. Though honestly, part of that may be due to the rapid switch in tone and content coming from the movie. To be fair, it’s distracting for Eliza too, but more because she wishes she were the one with a reason to moan right now. “And besides,” Henry continues, “we don’t live in a movie, Eliza. I’m – I’m no romantic lead.”

A moment ago, Eliza had been mostly just teasing, pushing at Henry’s buttons because she enjoyed it and felt like he (mostly) did too. But that last bit is enough to bring back all of the frustrations and pining back in full force. 

“Look,” she says, unable to hide the annoyance in her voice. “You spent that whole weekend telling me how much you wanted to try and impress Saps. I already get it, you did it to look cool, Henry. You don’t have to be into me to want to impress me.”

The stupid book finally gets set down and Henry gives her a wounded look, eyebrows bunched into a crease and the set of his stupid shoulders growing tense. “You said it yourself – you already knew I was looking forward to riding the horses, and why. There’s nothing to admit here, Eliza…” 

Maybe it’s the reluctance in his voice, or how guilty he looks, that makes her feel like he’s lying. Either way, Eliza can’t shake the feeling that they’re just about to rehash the same argument they’ve had before.

“You know what Henry?” she begins, sitting up. It’s always easier to glare at someone when you’re above them; it’s part of why she likes high heels so much, like, besides the way they make her calves look abso-fucking-lutely amazing. “Maybe one day you’ll realize you’re not a romantic lead because you don’t want to let yourself be all vulnerable and stuff and admit that the schmoopy feelingsy stuff that everyone else likes? Is something that you want too. And like, for all that you’re all work and business and think that stuff is all important, you don’t seem to realize how shallow it is! Sure, you’re better than you were when I met you but, still, fault a girl for wanting something more than a raise and a dusty corner cubicle!”

Henry finally sits up too, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Eliza – this is ridiculous. I don’t fault you for wanting what you want, but that doesn’t mean my life and work is less preferable to clubbing, or how your boyfriend gels his unfortunate hair. The things I want aren’t shallow, thank you very much.”

“Please, you spent $16,000 on horse riding lessons for a promotion you didn’t even know you’d get,” Eliza snaps, officially fed up. “I could buy a boob job for that!” Like, never mind how she’d dumped her unfortunate boyfriend, whom Henry had been the one to suggest – several times over – she get more serious with in the first place, or the fact she hadn’t even been out to a club for over a month. Clearly, it doesn’t matter how much she’s grown or changed, and that’s a thought that stings. “Guess what, Henry? It’s a horse. You sit on it, it walks places. Jobs are supposed to be things you do so you can go do the things you want to do afterwards!”

“Did it ever occur to you that I also enjoy riding horses, Eliza? But forgive me, I didn’t realize I was supposed to squander forty-plus hours a week doing something I hate in order to afford my interests,” Henry bites out, his temper finally fraying to match hers.

“Yeah, and everyone’s just supposed to be able to tell from the way you talk about things that you have hobbies outside of scheduling oil changes for your car or, I don’t know! Debating which verbiage connotates smoothness most efficiently for KinderKare’s latest diuretic?”

“Well obviously it’s completely logical to assume that I would take those lessons if I hated horses!” Henry retorts, turning her sarcasm back on her. “Also, when’s the last time you had your car’s oil changed, Eliza? Or do you just drive it around hoping everything will be okay and daydreaming about how e-famous you think you are?”

Wow. Wow. Eliza squeaks in outrage, grabs a pillow and gives him a well-deserved whack. “I’m super famous!” she tells him, genuinely offended and not a little hurt. It’s repetitive and stupid and infuriating because she knows, she knows, this is definitely an argument they’ve had before and they don’t even have the couple-status to justify it, and that stings in and of itself. “God, Henry. It’s no surprise you find my movie silly because you apparently just can’t comprehend doing anything for a girl besides drawing up a five year plan. Romance? Dramatic gestures? Totally lost on you.”

She makes to thwack him again, just for good measure, but this time Henry is prepared. He manages to catch the pillow one-handed and wrenches it away before it lands in his big, dumb face. 

“This is pointless!” he snaps, shoving the pillow back down onto the mattress between them. “I’m going to sleep, Eliza. And maybe I can dream that in the morning, you’ll be disabused of the idea that everything should be about you.”

...Ouch.

Eliza can feel her lower lip wobble and that’s… she swallows hard, hoping it will stop, or at least that he won’t notice that he managed to find the heart of the issue with one well-aimed barb. "Yeah, well, sometimes people want something to be about them and maybe that's not as shallow as you think it is, Henry,” she says, and pushes herself up out of bed. It strikes her very suddenly and very importantly that she has to get out of this room. “Whatever. I’m going to get some ice or something.”

Henry drops back onto his pillows with a resigned grimace that she barely takes note of. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Eliza shoves her feet into the first pair of sandals she can find and flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapters should come roughly every two weeks or so -- to allow time to write my other chaptered fic, _72 Hour Girlfriend_ , as well as the other projects I'm working on.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


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